“Why?”
“Because, my love, I can’t concentrate on a word he says. All I seem to think about is you.”
“Truly?” she breathed.
“Truly.” His gaze went from warm to positively heated. His large hands roamed possessively over her back before cupping her bottom and pulling her flush against him.
Desire poured over her like sun-warmed honey as she felt the turgid proof of his words. His erection was huge, prodding unabashedly against the softness of her belly. Her sex fluttered and dampened. In a blink, anger morphed into wanting.
She looped her arms around his neck, gave him a saucy flutter of her eyelashes. “And what exactly do you think about when you think about me, Lord Blackwood?”
“I’ll show you,” he said.
Blooming hell, she loved it when his voice deepened like that. Loved it even more when he snatched her into his arms as if she weighed no more than thistledown and carried her into the bedchamber, tossing her onto the bed. With one knee on the mattress, he made quick work of her robe and his own, and though she’d had over a month to get used to his bold masculinity, her breath still caught at the glorious sight of him.
Strength and raw beauty infused his every aspect. His shoulders were wide and heavy, and her gaze caught for an instant on the scar on his upper left arm. The work of a sniper’s bullet. It was a reminder that Marcus was all-too human, that she might have lost him before they’d even begun, a notion that spurred her pulse.
Not wanting to linger in fear, her eyes followed the chiseled planes of his chest, which were sprinkled with wiry bronze hair that she loved to rub her cheek against. The truth was she liked to touch him everywhere: loved the rippling of his muscled back beneath her palms, the hard drag of his ridged torso against her soft curves as he made love to her. In fact, it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain a ladylike composure when they were in bed. Last week, he’d driven her into such a frenzy that, of their own accord, her legs had wrapped around his lean hips, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. His eyes had glazed over, his thrusts getting harder, deeper, filling her so utterly…
Desire sang in her blood. She couldn’t help but stretch up her arms, whispering, “Come to me.”
He took her outstretched arms… and she blinked to find them pinned above her head, his large hand securing her by the wrists.
“In good time,” he said. “Stay like that for me, love.”
Goose pimples prickled over her skin at his calm command, the passionate flare in his eyes. In the past, she would have balked at being under any man’s control. She’d willingly participated in the sexual act twice before Marcus; both times, she’d taken the top position, driving the seduction along and deriving no pleasure from it. Her throat constricted as her one other experience pushed into her consciousness. Her first time and no participation on her part at all. Nothing but force, pain, and degradation…
She pushed the memory aside. With Marcus, things were different. Sex was about love and trust and goodness, dazzling discoveries that seemed to patch up her soul, healing all the broken places, leaving her whole and burning with want.
Her husband bent his head, his lips brushing hers, but when she leaned upward to deepen the kiss, his mouth left to course instead along her jaw, her neck, and collarbones. Her lungs strained as he licked a trail between her heaving breasts; when his lips closed around one throbbing nipple, a moan scraped from her throat. He’d recently introduced her to this heady pleasure. Her spine arched at the hot, drugging pull of his lips, which elicited a twin pulsing between her legs.
“I love your breasts, Penny.” He licked the other taut peak, blowing softly. “They’re so sweet.”
“Have more then,” she purred.
His husky laugh warmed her nipple. “If you insist.”
He continued to playfully explore, pressing kisses over her ribcage, her belly. She squirmed, giggling when his tongue dipped into her navel. But when his mouth continued its journey downward, she stilled. Surely, he didn’t mean to kiss her… there? Being no well-bred miss, she accounted herself well-informed when it came to the variety of sexual acts and thus had heard about oral stimulation but, to her knowledge, that was a thing done by women to men. It hadn’t occurred to her that a man—never mind a gentleman like Marcus—would wish to put his mouth on a woman’s…
The first, hot swipe of his tongue startled a whimper from her. The second made her back bow off the bed. “Oh, God. Oh, Marcus—”
He lifted his head. “All right, Penny?”
“Yes, yes,” she gasped.
“So sweet. Here like everywhere else,” he muttered. “God, I can’t get enough of you…”
Dazed, she let her head fall back as pleasure—as Marcus—consumed her. He knew no shame, his big hands holding her thighs spread as his tongue delved deeply, searching out her innermost secrets. Feral sounds broke from her as he ate her sex with passionate hunger, driving her wild with his praise. How delicious he found her. How luscious and wet. Pleasure built inside her, a storm that pushed the very boundaries of her soul. He licked upwards, to the top of her cleft, latching onto her pearl and suckling hard. Stars flashed the instant before she flew apart.
Glittering pieces. Brilliant and ecstatic. Reborn.
Caught up in the rippling waves of her climax, she nonetheless felt another jolt when he came inside her. A hard, thick filling that shoved out her tattered breath and replaced it with pure joy. More rolling tides of pleasure.
His face was dark with passion above her. “Christ, you feel good. So wet and tight, so beautiful.” He ground his hips, grazing her sensitive peak with the steely root of his cock. “I’d die happy right where I am.”
“You feel even better,” she moaned. “So big and hard. I can’t get enough of you.”
The moment the words slipped out, she realized her mistake. No lady would say such things. It was one thing to flirt with one’s husband and quite another to express such direct and lusty feelings.
Heart pounding, she opened her mouth to somehow take it back… but Marcus’ lips claimed hers with primal force. His tongue thrust into her mouth, a hot, fierce parry that mimicked the pounding of his hips. His rhythm went from demanding to savage. Lost in the maelstrom, she clung to him, her pelvis lifting to take what he gave her, deeper and deeper, and when he groaned her name, shuddering, she felt him touch the end of her, his heat flooding her womb. Then the storm broke inside her, the tumultuous bliss almost too much to bear.
Eventually, Marcus rolled onto his back, tucking her against his side. With her cheek nestled against his chest, she lay dazed, listening to his heart which thudded as furiously as her own. For long moments only the sound of their ragged breaths filled the room. Then her mind began to work again, and anxiety whirled. Did I reveal too much? Shock him with my behavior? Does he suspect…?
A rumbling chuckle interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Lifting her head, she saw her husband’s smiling expression.
“What is so amusing?” she said.
He threaded his fingers through the hair at her temple, tucking a long strand behind her ear. His touch was intimate, loving, and God help her but her insides melted just a little bit more.
“Us,” he said. “I never thought I’d want a bickering sort of marriage, but if the way we just concluded our first row is any indication, I think we should have more of them.”
“We don’t have to fight to make love,” she pointed out.
“True. But you must admit that was rather vigorous,”—he waggled his brows—“even for us.”
Biting her lip, she ventured, “It wasn’t… too vigorous?”
“You can’t be serious.”
She didn’t know how to reply in a way that wouldn’t betray her true fears. In the next instant, she found herself on her back, caged by Marcus’ lean strength.
His eyes searched her face. “Pandora, you truly don’t know how good we are together?”
“I do. It’s just that…” I’m
not who you think I am. I’m not good enough for you. I live in constant fear that you’ll discover the truth and hate me... She swallowed and settled for a part of the truth. “I don’t know if other wives get as, um, carried away as I do.”
“Probably not.”
Her stomach plummeted at his words.
“Which is why I pity their husbands and thank God in my prayers for bringing you to my balcony that night.” The tenderness in Marcus’ eyes, in his hands as they cupped her face, stole her breath. “In our bed, in our lives, I want us to be honest with one another. Always. No rule but love between us. You’re special, my own lucky Penny, and I want you exactly the way you are.”
“I don’t deserve you.” Her voice hitched. But I love you too much to ever let you go.
“Even if I’m a bacon-brained lummox?” He grinned at her.
“You’re the best of husbands, I adore you, and we’ll never fight again,” she declared.
He laughed outright. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, love. Why don’t we make a different pact? Even if we fight, we’ll never go to sleep angry with each other, nor will we sleep apart. No matter how bad it is, we’ll hash out our differences before we go to bed.”
She loved the idea. “And once we’re there—in bed, I mean—we’ll make up?”
His smile turned wicked. “Thoroughly, my love. You can count on that.”
Chapter Eight
October 1829
Penny tore her gaze from the flames in the hearth back to the half-written letter on the escritoire in front of her. The loops of ink swam, and she blinked away tears to focus on the words she was composing to her closest friend and confidante. A woman she hadn’t seen in over twelve years but who knew all her secrets, her dark corners, and who had, in truth, helped lead her into the light.
Dipping her pen into the inkwell, she continued writing. She used the old code that Flora—now known as Sister Agatha—had taught her all those years ago. To outsiders, the letter read as polite correspondence concerning a charity of which Pandora was a patron. Deciphering the code, Sister Agatha would find the following:
… I’ve done everything I can to please him. His favorite foods, tranquility at home, apologies… nothing is working. Despair fills me, and I wish you were here to tell me what to do, my wisest friend. How do I win back the heart of the man I love…?
A droplet fell onto the paper, splotching the ink.
Sighing, Penny completed and sealed the letter, addressing it to the humble manor in Oxfordshire where Sister Agatha, along with other godly women, carried out their good works. Once a convent, the site had lost its official title when King Henry VIII banned religious communities altogether. Yet the Society of St. Margery had continued to discreetly administer to the poor and needy under the guise of running a school; the place had been affectionately dubbed the Abbey by the locals. Now, with successive relief acts loosening the strictures on religious practice, the sisters were able to practice their faith and charity more openly.
Flora had joined the Abbey over a decade ago. After the death of Harry, she’d wanted nothing more to do with espionage, which she’d participated in purely for her husband’s sake. She’d longed to dedicate the rest of her life to doing good works and had her eye on the Society of St. Margery for some time. But she’d waited until Pandora’s future was settled before she made her announcement that she meant to end her old life in order to start a new one.
Pandora could still recall their last parting in Brussels. She’d gripped her friend’s hands, looked into the warm brown eyes that had been a source of comfort and wisdom since she was a ten-year-old girl and couldn’t help but plead for the other to change her mind.
“But you can’t join a religious society! You must come to London with me, Flora. You could play the part of my mama, which you are in every way but blood. You could chaperone me, help me win Marcus’ heart—”
“My darling girl, you don’t need my help for that.” Giving her a squeeze in return, Flora pulled free, walking to the window that overlooked the apartment’s small garden. Sunshine slanted over her handsome, weathered features. “If this Lieutenant-Colonel Harrington is half the man you say he is, he will be entirely smitten with you at first glance. He’ll have the good sense to snatch you off the marriage mart before any other gentleman has the chance.”
Pandora flushed. “I wish I had your confidence. But I don’t know how to be a lady—which I’ll have to be to woo a gentleman like Marcus. You come from the ton, Flora. You could help me, be with me…” Her chest clutched at the thought of losing her only friend. “I need you.”
“What you need, dearest, is a husband. And seeing as you’ve already met the man of your dreams—although he doesn’t know it,”—Flora’s eyes had a mischievous sparkle—“you will soon have the fulfilment that you deserve. The kind that I had with Harry.”
Seeing that sparkle die, snuffed out by sorrow that two years hadn’t dulled, Pandora said softly, “I miss Harry, too. Every day.”
“I know, dear.” Flora’s hand went to the plain silver locket that hung in the starched folds of her chemisette. Pandora knew it contained a portrait of Harry as a young man, his face unlined and eyes bright with the promise of the future. “But he’s gone, and I must find a way to go on. And I can’t—not as Flora Hudson, who belongs too entirely to her Harry.”
“Flora,” Pandora whispered.
Steady brown eyes held hers. “Now that I know you will be settled, I can let Flora go. She will accompany her husband with a free heart, knowing that their daughter has found the love she so greatly deserves. And when the world believes that Flora Hudson is gone, I will be free to start over. To pursue a new life, one of peace and contemplation, one where I can administer to those in need.”
I need you, she thought but didn’t say because she loved Flora too much to want anything but happiness for the other. Managing to keep most of the quiver out of her voice, Pandora said, “I’m going to miss you.”
Flora’s arms circled her in a hug. “As I shall miss you, my dearest girl.”
As the years passed, they’d kept in touch by letter, though by necessity their communications had to be guarded and infrequent. To the world, Flora Hudson was dead. Only Pandora knew that Flora’s bright flame still lived on within Sister Agatha, the Abbey’s guiding light.
She tried to imagine what her friend would recommend for her present situation. Knowing Agatha, the advice would likely involve being honest, repenting for one’s sins, maybe even groveling… but Penny had done plenty of all three in the past fortnight, and her husband hadn’t softened one iota toward her. Sighing, she set about completing her evening ablutions when she heard footsteps in the hallway outside. The familiar, precise cadence spurred her heartbeat.
Marcus. He’d come home.
Since his decree that she would give him time to decide their futures, she’d not been alone with him. They were together during the time spent with the children, but after the boys went off to their lessons, Marcus left too. He returned to sup with the family and left again after the boys retired to bed. She guessed that he was spending time at his club—at least, that was where she hoped he was going. Her insides knotted at the possibility of Marcus indulging in any other sort of nightly pleasures.
He’s a good man. A loyal one. He’d never break his vows.
At the same time, she knew what a hot-blooded man he was, and he hadn’t been to her bed for over a month. During the entire length of their marriage that had never happened before. Even when she had her monthly flux, he slept with her, cuddling and tucking her in close. And the fact that they couldn’t make love in the usual fashion during those times didn’t stop them from pleasuring one another. Her nipples tingled beneath her flannel robe as she recalled the last time she’d awakened Marcus with a kiss, his sleepy growl as she’d taken his morning cockstand deep into her mouth…
God, she missed him. And he was just next door.
True, he’d told
her to stay away, to give him space until such time as he was ready… but it’d been two weeks already, and he showed no signs of thawing toward her. Perhaps he needed a nudge, a reminder of the love they shared? If this frosty state of affairs between them was allowed to continue, he might freeze her out completely… and then where would she be?
No, she thought, chewing on her lip, she had to nip things in the bud before they worsened. But how? What was the best approach to take with a husband who was furious and had every right to be?
What she needed was… an excuse. A reason to go to him that wouldn’t seem like a willful infringement of the boundaries he’d set between them. Something that wouldn’t anger him further. Standing before her vanity, she flipped through the possibilities. He’d wanted her to carry on with her roles as mother and marchioness… so some household problem she needed assistance with then. She drummed her fingers against the vanity’s smooth surface, her perfume bottles rattling in their silver tray. A domestic quandary that her poor little female brain couldn’t handle without his help…
The annual winter ball. Perfect.
Why the blooming hell didn’t I think of this earlier?
Hurriedly, she checked her appearance in the looking glass. Her hair was still drying from her bath, tumbling in loose waves down her back—just the way Marcus liked it. Knowing his preference for natural beauty, she pinched her cheeks to add color rather than applying paint. Her eyes were already bright with nervous anticipation, so there was no need to do anything there. She spent another ten minutes going through her wardrobe before changing into a peignoir and slip made of ivory satin. Although demure in color, the matching set had a sophisticated cut and was edged with sensual lace, providing a dramatic foil to her dark coloring.
She paused at the door between their adjoining bedchambers. Given the state of their relationship, it seemed too bold to enter that way, and if he’d locked that private door against her, she didn’t want to discover that painful knowledge. Blowing out a breath, she headed out toward the proper entrance to Marcus’ room.
The Lady Who Came in from the Cold Page 6
